Black Mountain [NATURE]

-Author's note: Just a disclaimer that no disrespect to the Aboriginal people or their culture is meant by this purely fictional tale. Although
Black Mountain is a real place and has great cultural significance to the Aboriginal people of North Queensland, this tale of pure fantasy is based
only on the legends of the area. I personally have a great deal of respect for the Aboriginal culture, history and dreamtime stories. See bottom for
more information on the real Black Mountain.

The 4x4 ground to a halt at the near the edge of a rocky clifftop. Before it lay the endless piled rocks and crags known as the Black Mountains. All
four doors opened at once, the four teenagers spilling out in a sea of endless chatter and boundless enthusiam even the steeped humidity could not
dissolve. Two boys, two girls, they surveyed the cloud covered mountains before them.

“On foot from here ladies,” the eldest, one Thomas Barnett stated, opening the cover at the back of the vehicle to reveal rolled up tents, camping
supplies and two army issue backpacks. He hoisted it out with effortless ease. A firefighter for the Australian Army, he and his companion Jaryn were
the peak of physical fitness. The two girls, Cassie and Amanda, their respective girlfriends, peered over the edge to the rocky outcrops and gum trees
that seemed to reach out for them far below.

“Ladies huh?” Jaryn huffed, smacking Tom in the back of the head, “I’ll lady you son.” Tom laughed along with the others, handing the
remainder of the hiking gear to the others. Secured and ready go only minutes later, Tom turned to the others.

“Try to keep up ok?”

The trek down the steep pathways took at least three hours in the hot sun, the clouds coming over constantly threatening rain, and not letting up the
feeling of stickiness as the sun dipped below the rocky peaks. As afternoon approached, they found themselves at the base of a small watering hole,
the water so clear you could see the jagged bottom with ease.

“Well I don’t know about you guys, but I reckon we make camp here,” Tom offered, removing his now heavy backpack. The others agreed, setting
their tents and making a small campfire as the deep blue of the sky gave way to black, dotted by endless pinpricks of light. They laughed and played
as the campfire silhouetted their antics, as the alcohol flowed and the laughs died off, they found themselves seated around the fire, the last of the
day’s heat giving way to the cool stilness of night.

“You know they say this place in haunted?” Cassie said as she reclined in Tom’s arms.

“That’s just a myth started by aboriginals to keep white people out of here,” Jaryn replied, rolling his eyes, “oh what? You think there’s a
Yowie out there in the dark, waiting for us? Ghosts maybe? Oooooohhhh! C’mon ghosts! C’mon Yowies! Come and get us! I’ll take ya!” Jaryn leapt
to his feet, dancing around the campfire, shaking the branches of the nearby trees, yelling out to the ghosts of Black Mountain to come and get
him.

“We should tell some ghost stories!” Amanda said suddenly, as Jaryn returned to her side.” The others seemed a little hesitant at this idea, as
she leaned forward into the fire.

“Ok then, I’ll go first. Once there was a young man who worked on a station. His first and only love, was for his employer’s daughter. But she
had eyes for another.”

“Wait. Is this a ghost story or a love story?” Tom challenged, laughing, receiving a shoe in his general direction.

“Shutup! Now, the man’s name was Jack Long, and his love’s name was Wendy. Wendy Harris. The man she loved was a Jackaroo named Shane Cotton. He
was a strong, quiet man, who took his job seriously. When Jack found out the girl he had eyes for loved another, he became enraged. He waited for
Shane to leave to safety of home one day, and tracked him out into the bush. When he came across Shane, he sneaked up behind him, and beat him to
death with a rock!” Picking up one of the volcanic black rocks, she slammed it down on another for dramatic effect. As she did that the fire cracked
and popped, startling the group.

“That is the worst ghost story ever Amanda,” Tom stated, reaching for another beer.

“I’m not finished yet you dork,” she glared across him.

“Now then, to hide the fact he had killed Shane, Jack tried to dig a shallow grave to put his body in, but after a few feet, he discovered rocks.
Lots and lots of black rocks, just under the red dust. He lifted the rocks out one at a time, some small, some huge, but eventually after a day of
lifting and digging, he dumped Jack’s dead body in, piling the rocks on top of him. Unable to replace the entire mound, he piled the rocks high,
until he had built a cairn of rocks over Jack’s dead body. He then returned to the homestead where Wendy awaited him. He waited patiently until a
few weeks later when another stockhand returned with the news Shane had been killed.”

The others yawned, waiting for the punchline.

“Now then, the other stockhands blamed the aboriginals living nearby for killing Shane, and they formed a posse, Jack at the lead, and went out into
the bush. They found the camp of aboriginals a few days later and slaughtered them to the last man. Jack killed the medicine man, the shaman casting a
curse upon Jack as he died.”

“Is this like going somewhere?” Jaryn asked his girlfriend, yawning. She slapped him playfully.

“Will you let me finish? Ok, where was I? Oh yeah, Jack returned to Wendy’s arms, his secret safe, or so he thought. A week later he was checking
the southern ranges, when he came across a mound of black rocks. As he approached they moved, a bloodied hand pulling free! It was Shane, all broken
and beaten, pulling himself free! He pointed a mangled finger at Jack, and said he would be next. Jack panicked, grabbed a rock and beat Shane’s
head in again. Unable to bury him, Jack piled black rocks over his body again, burying him. Another week went by, and Jack found another black rock
cairn, Shane coming out to terrorise him again. Again he killed him with the black rocks, and piled them over his corpse.” She caught her breath,
taking a large swig of her Vodka Cruiser.

“Finally, after weeks, there were black rock cairns all over the homestead. Shane would reappear, and Jack finally realised he was cursed by the
aboriginal medicine man. Unable to reverse the curse, he went insane, killing those around him who found out his horrible secret. Eventually Wendy
found out about all the deaths, Jack killing her right next to her former lover. Insane with grief, he piled up all the black rocks over the piles of
dead he had created, until a great mountain of the dead formed. Seeing he was high above the land, he threw himself to his death from the black
mountain he had created, his body dead on the rocks below. To this day, they say the ghosts of Jack Long’s murdered workmates and lovers still haunt
this place, and that their spirits roam the jungles and mountains, looking for lovers they can kill to join them in ever lasting agony.”

The words hung for a few minutes, where it seemed even the creatures of the tropical jungle were silenced by the words. Then, laughter. First Tom,
then, Jaryn. Amanda stood up, her hands on her hips.

“So you do better then!” she challenged, sitting away from him. Recovering from his laughter, Jaryn stood.

“Ok, ok. There was once a man, a convict from Lord Howe Island, who escaped the jails from there, and found himself back on the mainland, on the run
from the law.” He stood up, climbing a nearby eucalyptus tree to have a wider view of his audience.

“He fled through the endless jungles of the north, until he found himself in the northern tropical rainforests. Sheltering from both the weather and
the law, he-“ The branch he was standing on without warning snapped, and Jaryn disappeared into the darkness with a roar of surprise. The others
stood quickly, Carrie screaming as they made for their friend.

“Yeah. I’m down here. Think I’ve twisted my ankle but.” The reply was faint, and had a strange echo to it. Tom grabbed the torch from his kit,
shining it down into the crevasse. Jaryn had landed in a narrow ravine, bereft of vegetation but full of small black rocks. His leg was twisted
awkwardly, his arms and torn jeans red with grazes and cuts.

“Let me get a rope!” Tom called, fumbling in his pack, “just hang on! I’ll be down there in a sec!” Tom fed out the rope, expertly tying one
end the trunk of the broken tree. He began to descend slowly, the two girls shining lights down below to light his way.

“Told you my story was better than yours,” Amanda stated, shining the torch in her boyfriend’s face, “even the ghosts didn’t like
yours.”

“No,” he grunted, attempting to sit up, “that was gravity that didn’t like my story. At the peak of the ravine, Carrie heard a snap of wood
behind them. Turning slowly, she expected to see the fire just crackling away.

“Uh, guys?” She turned back to the ravine, shining her torch down on Tom, who was still rapelling down.

Jaryn was gone also. Only a patch of slick ground spoke to as him ever being there. The redness shone back through the torchlight as Amanda screamed.
Tom turned on the rope, seeing what his friend was screaming about. He swore, dropping quickly to the ravine floor.

There was no sign of Jaryn. Just the blood. It looked like his body had soaked into the rocks. He shone the torch above to Amanda, his words caught in
his throat. Amanda lay slumped over the edge, as bright red blood dripped over his torch, her eyes dead, her body limp. Tom panicked, tearing free the
small 9mm pistol he had brought just in case. His breath ragged, he swung about, the torch revealing only black rocks, piles of them. They soared
above him, closing in around him.

“Cassie? Jaryn?” A low moan echoed through the ravine, chilling Tom to the bone. He spun about, the torch revealing nothing. Another low moan,
this one by his ear. He spun again. Nothing.

The Police entourage emerged from the tropical jungle three days later. Above, the roar of helicopters and the sounds of calls resounded from the
jungle and the mountain. The Senior Detective shivered despite the heat. He hated Black Mountain. Something about it gave him the creeps.

“We found the campsite sir,” he went on, “it had been ripped to shreds. The tents, all their gear. Completely torn to shreds sir.”

“Any sign of the kids?” The younger officer shook his head. “No sir. We seem to think it may have been a wild animal attack. But sir?” The
elder detective stared out at the menacing clouds coming in over the massive mound of black rocks. It somehow looked even more creepy after a good
rain.

“There’s no blood. No bodies, not even any clothes. All we could find is their gear.”

“Black Mountain strikes again,” he muttered softly to himself.

“Sir?” The officer asked.

“Continue a sweep. We continue the search until nightfall. If they’re out there, we’ll find them.”

The detective knew they would never be seen again.

Black Mountain is a real place in Northern Queensland, near the town of Cooktown. Included below are a few links if you wish to learn more about
the legends of the place. Anyone who has been close will know of the eerie feeling and unescapable feeling someone is watching you.

Trust me, this place earns it's reputation. Although I did stretch truth a little to fit with the story, even driving past Black Mountain just gives
you the creeps, let alone standing before it. It's what makes Australia such a unique place to have stuff like this.

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